


Nomina nuda tenemus

by naivesilver



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Genderbending, Introspection, Minor Character Death, Self-Doubt, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 05:59:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8132954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naivesilver/pseuds/naivesilver
Summary: They don’t tell her that her name is cursed.That doesn't mean she isn't aware of it.





	

They don’t tell her that her name is cursed.

At first, because it just isn’t. Thorin is just a friend his father loves enough to pass his name to his first-born and only daughter, a serious face that a small, dark-haired child has to say hi to when he visits the Iron Hills or when her father brings her to Ered Luin. (She won’t remember much of him, later on: just blue eyes and a stern voice talking to Adad, speaking about matters that she can’t understand yet. The smiles and laughter of his nephews will form much clearer memories).

But times change: people change, too, even dwarves, who seem so firm on their feet. She grows, and learns, and she is just on the brink of adulthood, when her name turns into something more than the name of a friend, of a leader, of a king.

Thorin becomes a synonym for hero, for legend. For madness, too, but this she will learn only later.

She doesn’t march with her father to Erebor, and not because she isn’t apt to war. She is a skilled warrior for her age, time has proven that – people already call her Stonehelm, because nobody has been able to uncover her face in battle, as if the helm was fused to her body, to the stone that composes her body and the bodies of all her kinsmen. But she is young, and Dain’s only child, and so she stays in the Iron Hills and waits, just in case he doesn’t make it home. She prays against this possibility, at night, when her mother is asleep and she doesn’t have anybody to appear strong to; but during the day she never falters, and when the raven comes with the news, everybody is eager to follow her in the journey to the Lonely Mountain. The dwarves of the Iron Hills pack food and tools and everything that will be useful in this new life, and they sing with the joy of going home, but she can’t help but feel the tiniest bit of fear in her heart. The battle is won and they have their mountain again, but their king – her namesake – is dead, and so are his heirs. Her father has survived, but he has lost a friend, and is now king. That changes everything. That makes her a princess, another Thorin in a thinning line of royals. She doesn’t know what it truly means, but what she knows is enough to make her shudder.

She adapts, of course. She always does. She mourns with the others, and helps rebuild that kingdom of old that will be her new home, and it’s only later, when everything is settled, that she starts hearing the whispers.

At first, she doesn’t understand if dwarrows are talking about her, or about the leader of the Company. It’s difficult to tell, and nobody will speak directly to her, but she keeps listening, and bit by bit, she stars to understand.

Many love her: she is kind, and true to her words, and her leadership in battle is constant and brave. But to many minds, the two Thorins (the Thorin who is her, and the Thorin who now rests in stone) sometimes melt in a figure that is not to trust, not to follow. They see her walking by, muscular and beautiful, her coal-black hair neatly braided, her beard thick and lustrous, clad in armour or in long dresses, and they whisper about madness, about a line that thrives for gold and ends itself in a suicidal battle.

They don’t tell her that her name is cursed, but she knows it anyway, and she doesn’t know what to do.

It’s a confusing situation. Her father swears that Thorin was the greatest dwarf ever to set foot in all of Arda and drinks in his memory, but lady Dis (so gentle, and yet so sad) won’t ever call her by her name; the Company remembers good times and a strong leader, but people speak of dragon-sickness and bloodlines forsaken by Mahal.

She tries harder and harder everyday. She wants to fit her father’s expectations by being as his friend was (she doesn’t know if those expectations truly exist, but in the end, who knows?) while proving to everyone else that her name does not mean anything, that she will not grow mad, that she will be a good queen, when her time comes. It’s exhausting, and it keeps her awake many nights, making her wonder what she has to do now. Only in battle she breaths, because there, she doesn’t  have to prove anything to anyone. She has to fight and win, and her helm remains steady on her head while she hurts and kills, while she grows stronger and stronger. And when the greatest battle of all comes, she is there to watch it with eyes older than they should be, tired by the fatigue of a double life.

They resist the siege and fight back the orcs, but nothing can prepare them for the loss of their king.

She sees it. She sees her father falling and dying under an Orc-blade, and she screams, but nobody can hear her, and so she stops and  returns limping to the Mountain at the end of the battle (there is another fallen dwarf in front of Erebor, a dwarf who she loved and who seemed to care nothing about her name, but she doesn’t see him falling and she can’t scream when they bring the notice to her, so she weeps for him and for her father in the loneliness of her chambers, her body tired and her heart aching).

The realization hits her only later on, after she is crowned and the first shock has left her. She is sitting on the throne one day, and the thought comes to her mind abruptly, just as her eyes meet her people’s ones.

_Who are they seeing, sitting upon that throne?_

_Who do they want to see?_

They are scared, and in need of a guide. They want a concrete person to be their sovereign, not a dwarfling scared of ghosts, who takes her elders as models. She can’t let a name dictate who she is. She needs to make her own decisions, without being afraid of being too similar to long gone dwarves, and not similar enough. She doesn’t know who that Thorin Oakenshield was, and she will probably never know, but it doesn’t matter. It will never matter. Their names sound similar, but that doesn’t make them the same person. He will not cast a shadow on her life, her blood, her ruling years. She will not let him.

She is Thorin Stonehelm, Queen of Erebor, and her name is just her own.

And when she gives birth to the child Mahal has sent her and her love has carved into her body before leaving her on that battlefield, her beautiful gift for the beginning of this new, happier Age, when she sets her eyes on him and feels who he really his, she isn’t afraid of giving him his name. He will be the person his people will need him to be, his name being Durin or not.

A name can’t change the future of a dwarrow.

It merely describes it to the ones who come after.

**Author's Note:**

> Once I read something about the weight of dead people's names, and I thought that it had to be the case for the Stonehelm, since Thorin is not exactly an easy realtive to have. And Fem!Stonehelm , because dwarrowdams. (I don't doubt Thorin like she does. I'm in the PRotect Thorin Oakenshield squad. But we had a book and three movies to help us understand, and she didn't).  
> This is also the first time I complete a fic in english (Ao3 user SamanthaCBlack18 betaed me because she's a sweetiepie, go hit her up) and I post it on this site, so please don't be too mad if I made a mess.  
> Cheers.


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